Living in Temporary Shelters: Finding Hope in the Wilderness
Life has a way of reminding us that nothing here is permanent. We move, we change jobs, relationships shift, and circumstances evolve. For many of us, there are seasons that feel like wandering through a wilderness—uncertain, difficult, and far from the security we crave. Yet within this reality lies a profound spiritual truth that has sustained God's people for thousands of years.
The Festival That Points to Forever
Ancient Israel celebrated a festival called Sukkot, also known as the Festival of Tabernacles or the Festival of Booths. This wasn't just another religious obligation on the calendar—it was a vivid, tangible reminder of both their past and their future. For seven days, families would leave their permanent homes and live in temporary shelters made of branches and leaves, commemorating the forty years their ancestors spent wandering in the wilderness after their exodus from Egypt.
But this festival was about more than remembrance. It carried a message of hope that echoes through the centuries to our present moment: This wilderness is temporary. There is a promised land ahead.
Foreigners in Our Own Land
Abraham, the father of faith, lived an extraordinary life of trust. God called him to leave everything familiar and journey to a land he'd never seen. When he arrived at this promised land, he didn't build a mansion or establish his kingdom. Instead, he lived in tents—temporary shelters—even in the very land God promised would one day belong to his descendants.
The writer of Hebrews captures this beautifully: "By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country. He lived in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to a city with foundations whose architect and builder is God" (Hebrews 11:9-10).
Abraham understood something profound: the physical land wasn't the ultimate goal. God Himself was the great reward.
This same truth applies to us today. We are living as foreigners and strangers in this world. Our homes, no matter how comfortable, are temporary shelters. Our bodies themselves are temporary dwellings. We're wandering through a wilderness, and like Abraham, we're looking forward to a city built by God—a permanent home in His presence.
The Patience of God
Why hasn't the end come yet? Why does God allow the wilderness season to continue?
Second Peter gives us the answer: "The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead, he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance" (2 Peter 3:9).
God's patience is a gift. Every day that passes is another opportunity for someone to turn from darkness to light, to step out of their personal wilderness and into the safety of God's presence. The harvest isn't complete yet. There are still people who need to hear the good news, still hearts that need to be transformed.
This patience characterized God's dealings with Israel. Even when they stood at the edge of the promised land and saw giants in the land, God gave those nations time to repent. He doesn't delight in destruction—He delights in redemption. His heart beats for life, not death.
Where Are Your Eyes Fixed?
Israel's extended wilderness wandering wasn't part of God's original plan. When twelve spies explored the promised land, ten came back terrified. They saw fortified cities and giants, and they concluded it was impossible to take the land. Only two—Joshua and Caleb—saw the same obstacles but reached a different conclusion: "God is with us. We can do this."
The difference? Where they fixed their eyes.
Ten spies looked at the giants. Two looked at God.
How much of our wilderness wandering is extended because we're focused on the wrong things? We see our problems as insurmountable giants. We focus on our financial struggles, our broken relationships, our health issues, our failures. These things loom so large in our vision that we can't see the God who parts seas, provides manna in deserts, and brings water from rocks.
The question confronts us directly: Are you looking at the enemy or the King of Kings?
When we fix our eyes on Jesus—the author and perfecter of our faith—the wilderness becomes bearable. The journey gains purpose. The temporary hardships fade in comparison to the eternal glory awaiting us.
The Great Invitation
On the last and greatest day of the Festival of Tabernacles, Jesus stood in the temple courts and issued an invitation that still echoes today: "Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them" (John 7:37-38).
Imagine the scene. Jerusalem packed with pilgrims celebrating the harvest and remembering their wilderness journey. The heat, the crowds, the thirst. And Jesus stands up and offers living water—water that never runs dry, that satisfies completely, that flows from within and gives life.
He wasn't just offering physical refreshment. He was offering Himself—the presence of God dwelling within us through the Holy Spirit. He was offering a way through the wilderness, a companion for the journey, a guide who would never leave or forsake us.
The Promise of Rest
The Festival of Tabernacles began and ended with a Sabbath rest—no work permitted. These bookends of rest paint a beautiful picture. In the Garden of Eden, before sin entered the world, humanity lived in restful communion with God. Work wasn't burdensome; life wasn't hard.
After sin, God told Adam that work would become toilsome, that life would involve sweat and struggle. We're living in that in-between time—between the rest of Eden and the rest of heaven, between two rivers of life, between two trees.
But the promise stands: there is coming a day of final rest. A day when the wilderness journey ends and we arrive home. A day when God wipes every tear from our eyes, when death and mourning and crying and pain are no more. A day when we hear, "Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your master."
Living in Light of Eternity
So what do we do while we're still in the wilderness? How do we live in these temporary shelters?
First, we remember. Just as Israel built temporary shelters to remember God's faithfulness in the wilderness, we remember what God has done. We take communion. We share testimonies. We rehearse His goodness.
Second, we celebrate. God commanded Israel to rejoice during this festival. Even in the wilderness, there is reason for joy. God provides. He is with us. He has given us life and breath and purpose.
Third, we keep our eyes on the prize. We don't get so comfortable in our temporary shelters that we forget we're heading somewhere better. We hold loosely to the things of this world and tightly to the things of God.
Fourth, we join the harvest. The reason the end hasn't come yet is because God is still gathering His people. We get to participate in that glorious work—sharing the good news, loving our neighbors, demonstrating the kingdom of God in word and deed.
The Choice Before Us
Ultimately, we face a choice. Will we trust God through the wilderness, or will we try to make it on our own? Will we fix our eyes on the giants or on the God who defeats giants? Will we live as permanent residents of this world or as foreigners longing for home?
The wilderness is real. The struggles are legitimate. But they are temporary. There is a promised land ahead, a city whose architect and builder is God, a home where we will dwell in His presence forever.
The invitation stands: Come to Jesus. Drink the living water. Step out of the darkness and into the light. Accept the life He offers.
Your wilderness wandering doesn't have to last forever. Trust in the God who provides, who protects, who leads. He is faithful to complete the work He has begun. And one day—perhaps sooner than we think—we'll hear the trumpet call, and the harvest will be complete, and we'll finally be home.
Until then, we live in temporary shelters, with our eyes fixed on eternity, rejoicing in the God who is our great reward.
Life has a way of reminding us that nothing here is permanent. We move, we change jobs, relationships shift, and circumstances evolve. For many of us, there are seasons that feel like wandering through a wilderness—uncertain, difficult, and far from the security we crave. Yet within this reality lies a profound spiritual truth that has sustained God's people for thousands of years.
The Festival That Points to Forever
Ancient Israel celebrated a festival called Sukkot, also known as the Festival of Tabernacles or the Festival of Booths. This wasn't just another religious obligation on the calendar—it was a vivid, tangible reminder of both their past and their future. For seven days, families would leave their permanent homes and live in temporary shelters made of branches and leaves, commemorating the forty years their ancestors spent wandering in the wilderness after their exodus from Egypt.
But this festival was about more than remembrance. It carried a message of hope that echoes through the centuries to our present moment: This wilderness is temporary. There is a promised land ahead.
Foreigners in Our Own Land
Abraham, the father of faith, lived an extraordinary life of trust. God called him to leave everything familiar and journey to a land he'd never seen. When he arrived at this promised land, he didn't build a mansion or establish his kingdom. Instead, he lived in tents—temporary shelters—even in the very land God promised would one day belong to his descendants.
The writer of Hebrews captures this beautifully: "By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country. He lived in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to a city with foundations whose architect and builder is God" (Hebrews 11:9-10).
Abraham understood something profound: the physical land wasn't the ultimate goal. God Himself was the great reward.
This same truth applies to us today. We are living as foreigners and strangers in this world. Our homes, no matter how comfortable, are temporary shelters. Our bodies themselves are temporary dwellings. We're wandering through a wilderness, and like Abraham, we're looking forward to a city built by God—a permanent home in His presence.
The Patience of God
Why hasn't the end come yet? Why does God allow the wilderness season to continue?
Second Peter gives us the answer: "The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead, he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance" (2 Peter 3:9).
God's patience is a gift. Every day that passes is another opportunity for someone to turn from darkness to light, to step out of their personal wilderness and into the safety of God's presence. The harvest isn't complete yet. There are still people who need to hear the good news, still hearts that need to be transformed.
This patience characterized God's dealings with Israel. Even when they stood at the edge of the promised land and saw giants in the land, God gave those nations time to repent. He doesn't delight in destruction—He delights in redemption. His heart beats for life, not death.
Where Are Your Eyes Fixed?
Israel's extended wilderness wandering wasn't part of God's original plan. When twelve spies explored the promised land, ten came back terrified. They saw fortified cities and giants, and they concluded it was impossible to take the land. Only two—Joshua and Caleb—saw the same obstacles but reached a different conclusion: "God is with us. We can do this."
The difference? Where they fixed their eyes.
Ten spies looked at the giants. Two looked at God.
How much of our wilderness wandering is extended because we're focused on the wrong things? We see our problems as insurmountable giants. We focus on our financial struggles, our broken relationships, our health issues, our failures. These things loom so large in our vision that we can't see the God who parts seas, provides manna in deserts, and brings water from rocks.
The question confronts us directly: Are you looking at the enemy or the King of Kings?
When we fix our eyes on Jesus—the author and perfecter of our faith—the wilderness becomes bearable. The journey gains purpose. The temporary hardships fade in comparison to the eternal glory awaiting us.
The Great Invitation
On the last and greatest day of the Festival of Tabernacles, Jesus stood in the temple courts and issued an invitation that still echoes today: "Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them" (John 7:37-38).
Imagine the scene. Jerusalem packed with pilgrims celebrating the harvest and remembering their wilderness journey. The heat, the crowds, the thirst. And Jesus stands up and offers living water—water that never runs dry, that satisfies completely, that flows from within and gives life.
He wasn't just offering physical refreshment. He was offering Himself—the presence of God dwelling within us through the Holy Spirit. He was offering a way through the wilderness, a companion for the journey, a guide who would never leave or forsake us.
The Promise of Rest
The Festival of Tabernacles began and ended with a Sabbath rest—no work permitted. These bookends of rest paint a beautiful picture. In the Garden of Eden, before sin entered the world, humanity lived in restful communion with God. Work wasn't burdensome; life wasn't hard.
After sin, God told Adam that work would become toilsome, that life would involve sweat and struggle. We're living in that in-between time—between the rest of Eden and the rest of heaven, between two rivers of life, between two trees.
But the promise stands: there is coming a day of final rest. A day when the wilderness journey ends and we arrive home. A day when God wipes every tear from our eyes, when death and mourning and crying and pain are no more. A day when we hear, "Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your master."
Living in Light of Eternity
So what do we do while we're still in the wilderness? How do we live in these temporary shelters?
First, we remember. Just as Israel built temporary shelters to remember God's faithfulness in the wilderness, we remember what God has done. We take communion. We share testimonies. We rehearse His goodness.
Second, we celebrate. God commanded Israel to rejoice during this festival. Even in the wilderness, there is reason for joy. God provides. He is with us. He has given us life and breath and purpose.
Third, we keep our eyes on the prize. We don't get so comfortable in our temporary shelters that we forget we're heading somewhere better. We hold loosely to the things of this world and tightly to the things of God.
Fourth, we join the harvest. The reason the end hasn't come yet is because God is still gathering His people. We get to participate in that glorious work—sharing the good news, loving our neighbors, demonstrating the kingdom of God in word and deed.
The Choice Before Us
Ultimately, we face a choice. Will we trust God through the wilderness, or will we try to make it on our own? Will we fix our eyes on the giants or on the God who defeats giants? Will we live as permanent residents of this world or as foreigners longing for home?
The wilderness is real. The struggles are legitimate. But they are temporary. There is a promised land ahead, a city whose architect and builder is God, a home where we will dwell in His presence forever.
The invitation stands: Come to Jesus. Drink the living water. Step out of the darkness and into the light. Accept the life He offers.
Your wilderness wandering doesn't have to last forever. Trust in the God who provides, who protects, who leads. He is faithful to complete the work He has begun. And one day—perhaps sooner than we think—we'll hear the trumpet call, and the harvest will be complete, and we'll finally be home.
Until then, we live in temporary shelters, with our eyes fixed on eternity, rejoicing in the God who is our great reward.
Melvin Vandiver
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